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Of soothing compliments divested,
This warning, tho' it may delight nnt;iune
OSCAR OF ALVA (1).
How sweetly shines, thro' azure skies,
The lamp of Heav'n on Lora's shore;
And hear the din of arms no more.
But, often has yon rolling moon,
Oo Alva's casques of silver play'd;
Her chiefs in gleaming mail array’d.
And, on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er Ocean's sullen flow,
She saw the gasping warrior low.
While many an eye, which ne’er again,
Could mark the rising orb of day,
Beheld in death her fading ray. (1) The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of « Jeronymo and Lorenzo, n in the first volume of « The Armenian, or Ghost-Seer : » it also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of « Macbeth. »
Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They bolest her dear propitious light; But, now, she glimmer'd from above,
A sad funereal torch of night.
Faded is Alva's noble race,
And grey her towers are seen afar; No more her heroes urge the chace,
Or roll the crimson tide of war.
But, who was last of Alya's clan?
Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ? Her towers resound no steps of man,
They echo to the gale alone,
And, when that gale is fierce and high,
A sound is hcard in yonder hall,
And vibrates o’cr the mouldering wall,
9.' Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; But, there no more his banners rise, • No more his plumes of sable wave:
Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,
When Angus hail'd his eldest born; The vassals round their chieftain's heartb,
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.
They feast upon the mountain deer,,!
The pibroch rais’d its piercing note, To gladden more their Highland cheer,..
The strains in martial numbers float,
And they, who heard the war-notes wild,
Hop'd that, one day, the pibroch's strain Should play before the Hero's child,
While he should lead the Tartan train.
Another year is quickly past,
And Angus hails another son, His natal day is like the last,
Nor soon the jocund feast was done.
Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva's dusky hills of wind;
And left their hoands in speed behind.
But, ere their years of youth are o'er,
They mingle in the ranks of war; They lightly wheel the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow far.
Dark was the flow of Oscar's bair,
Wildly it stream'd along the gale; But Allan's locks were bright and fair,
And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.
But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, i
His dark eye shone through beams of trath; Allan had early learn'd controul,
And smooth his words had been from youth.
Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear
Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd fo fear,
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel.
While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell; Keen as the lightning of the storm, .
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.